The Story of Us
by azkabcn
Summary: Sherlock reconnects with 'the one' after nine years of separation. One-shot for Valentine's Day


My and Victor's story ended as a tragedy.

Which is a shame since I really thought he was 'the one'.

But then again, we were young and about to go our separate ways: uni was going to end six months into our relationship, and we had been officially labelled as an 'item' only two months prior.

* * *

I think it was just us parting ways that made things fizzle out into nothing. We tried long distance, but we quickly discovered weren't cut out for that sort of life. We were too busy to sit and talk over the phone, or even send a text. I had spent the years after uni with my main phone mostly switched off, trying to get my Master's in Criminology with little to no distractions.

Maybe it was my fault as much as Victor's for our relationship coming to an abrupt end.

Actually, now that I think about it, we had never actually _ended_ the relationship. We didn't talk to each other and say 'I think we're not working, maybe it'd be best to end things.' All we did was… stop talking. So technically we've been in a relationship for nine years.

 _Nine years._

It's been nine whole years without Victor by my side, there to support me whenever I need him to. Nine whole years without Victor showing me that he _cared_

And I'm thinking about all of this on Valentine's Day. Fantastic. _Way to go, Sherlock. Making yourself feel lonely as hell on the day that's meant to be filled with love._

At least I can celebrate with Mrs Hudson as her technical son (My life is just _filled_ with technicalities.) and the familial love I share with her. At least I'm not completely alone.

I sit in my chair, a glass of wine clutched in my hand, my phone sat face up on the desk next to me. I will it to ping so it'll take me away from this living hell, away from missing Victor, away from wishing I wasn't so alone.

Even a text from Greg telling me he'd found a case that's rated a one will be welcome at this point.

I don't know how long I've been sitting here for. I empty and refill my glass over and over for hours on end.

It's only when Mrs Hudson comes into the living room and sees the half empty bottle and whisks it away that I finally set the glass down. I lay my head in my hands, the alcohol starting to kick in only half a notch. With my experience on drugs, it's going to take more than three quarters of a bottle of wine to get me slightly tipsy.

That's when it happens.

My phone rings and I jump because I don't expect it to. Greg would have texted if he needed me.

The screen flashes: _Unknown Number._

But it's not 'unknown'. Unsaved, yes. But I know this number all too well.

 _Victor._

Before I can think about what I'm doing, before I can weigh up the pros and cons, I answer the call.

Victor?' I answer breathlessly.

I can almost see the smile plastered on his face. 'Sherry?' His voice breaks on the second syllable.

My heart bursts with affection at the old pet name, with elation, with guilt, and I'm sure that if I wasn't sitting down, I'd have sunk to my knees.

'Oh Vic! You called!' I exclaim.

'Yeah. I did. You answered,' he shoots back ruefully.

'Yeah. I did.' I try to get my muscles to relax, but it doesn't happen. 'I'm so sorry, Vic,' I whisper. 'I didn't want it to end so suddenly.'

He laughs slightly. 'Hey, don't worry 'bout it. It was my fault as much as it was yours, Sherry, lo—' He pauses. 'Sherry.'

I smile sadly. I don't realise how much I've missed his terms of endearment until he stops himself from using one.

'I guess so,' I shrug. 'Hey, are you going to be in London anytime soon?'

He chuckles. 'I'm in London now. I'm sitting outside Speedy's Café right this second.'

'I wish I could—wait. Did you say _Speedy's Café_?'

'Yeah,' he clarifies. 'On Baker Street. You know it?'

My heart starts racing. 'I can do better than knowing it. I live on the same damn street. I'll meet you there in five.' I tell him as I stand quickly, the blood rushing to my head and almost tipping me over.

I hear him giggle. 'Oh okay. Well then it's a date.'

And then he's cut the call.

I run into my room and fling open my wardrobe, swapping my everyday suit jacket and waistcoat and for ones I wear at the minimal number of occasions I'm invited to once in a blue moon. I glance at the mirror, running a hand through my hair, trying to get it to look at least somewhat presentable. I curse myself for not bothering to shave this morning, though Victor's voice rings in my ear: _I like the scruff. It suits you._

With a newfound smile, I swing on my Belstaff. I forgo my gloves and stuff my phone into my trouser pocket.

I stop a second to take a deep breath, doing my best to calm my shaking nerves. I take one last look in the mirror and leave the flat.

I run down the stairs, yelling, 'Mrs Hudson! I'm going out!' I don't wait for her reply before slamming the door shut.

I pause outside the doorway, readying myself for what's to come.

'Sherlock!' I hear a familiar voice call.

I turn to my left and my mouth hangs open.

Victor's standing by a table in his long, brown trench coat. The sun casts its light onto his blond hair, giving it a sort of silvery hue. His smile outshines the sun itself.

I smile brightly as I walk to him. He meets me halfway and we stand there, unmoving, not speaking. The silence between us is deafening, unlike any other silence I've ever heard, even though there's the chatter of the other customers and passers by.

All our memories flash across my eyes and I wonder if our parting had the same 'it's killing me' effect on him as it did me.

And then his arms are around my shoulders as he buries his face in my the crook of my neck. Suddenly we're both crying, crying tears of joy at seeing each other after such a long time, tears of anguish at the thought of all our wasted time.

'Oh Sherry, I've missed you so much!' he mutters between tears.

I sniff. 'I've missed you too, Vic. I've missed you more. I'm so sorry. So, so, so sorry.'

Victor pulls back slightly, resting his hands on my shoulders. 'It's not _just_ your fault, Sherlock. I played a part in this too. A relationship needs two to work – or to be fucked up in fact.' He grins.

'Maybe,' is the reply that I give him.

In all honesty, I'd blamed Victor for this for such a long time that it was hard to share the blame now that I'd taken full responsibility for it.

'Listen, let me buy you a coffee and we'll go for a walk and talk, yes?' he asks, his hand trailing and stopping at my upper arm.

If he's willing to jump straight to the intimate physical contact then maybe he'll be willing to try out our relationship again?

'Okay. Thank you.'

He smiles, giving my arm a light squeeze and then turns to the direction of the café.

* * *

'I tried calling you once I got settled at my new flat but you never answered,' Victor tells me forlornly.

We've relocated to the park and are now sitting at the bottom of the big tree at the back of the field.

'I know,' I sigh, not meeting his eyes. 'I'm sorry. My phone had been off so I could concentrate on my Master's and when I turned it on and saw your numerous attempts at calling, I thought it was too late. I was sure that someone else had captured your heart.'

'There _was_ no someone else,' he confirms.

I'm in the middle of a sip of coffee when his sentence ends. It's all I can do not to spit it out. After I swallow (with a lot of concentration) I look at him, my brow raised.

'You're kidding,' I state bluntly.

He shakes his head, smiling gently as he does so. 'Nope. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you.'

 _As much as I_ love _you_.

'You said that in the present tense. As in you still love me.' My heart rate speeds up once again. It's not a question.

'Don't you see, Sherry?' he whispers as he turns his upper body to face me. 'I _do_ still love you. I never _stopped_ loving you.'

His hand travels up to my cheek and I note the softness of his skin against mine and the electric touch and _oh, I've missed this._

'I still love you too, Vic,' I murmur as I lean in.

Our lips touch softly, as if scared that this is all a dream. I pull myself up onto my knees as my right arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him closer. My left hand seeks his and I grip it as if my life depends on it. His hand journeys up to my hair, burying itself into my curls.

Things are going much better than I thought they would.

The story of us looks a lot like a victory now.

The end.


End file.
